


a dream in jeans and leather

by okayantigone



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood Play, Corset Piercings, Daddy Kink, Dom Hisoka, Isaac Netero/Zeno Zoldyck - mentioned, Knife Play, Lingerie, M/M, Mafia - freeform, Outing, Past Child Abuse, bdsm club, boys in heels, boys in lingerie, play piercing, submissive illumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: itching to claw out of his skin after a painfully frustrating family dinner, illumi reaches out to his old dom, hoping to get his fix there. instead, phinks directs him to the palace of heaven's other notorious floor dom.and hisoka - well, there’s a part of him -a pretty big one – that’s found his newest little side-project, and it’s simply making sure that no one gets to play with illumi zoldyck, but him.





	a dream in jeans and leather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naiyad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naiyad/gifts).



> this is a modern au, but like.... hisoka is still hisoka and the zoldycks are still the zoldycks, with all the warnings that apply to all of that.   
> the underage tag is because there's a few remarks about kalluto - who's sixteen in this au, so i don't want anyone to be caught off guard. 
> 
> ANYWAY, happy belated birthday to naiyad!!!!

_dream in jeans and leather_

 

the night catches him under the flickering street lights, flicking his lighter on and lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers, inhaling the nicotine, holding it in his lungs, and breathing grey out with a shudder.

 

there was a time he thought conversations with his parents would stop leaving him itching to claw out of his own skin, rearrange his own bones, would stop leaving him so raw, and fresh and _unmade._ the emergency he made up to leave the dinner early drums in his ears, because if he’d had to spend another _minute_ sitting at that dinner table, being insulted, having the entirety of his identity and career turned over and around into the building blocks of his mother’s disapproval, so brazen and irreverent in the face of his other siblings’ betrayals and inadequacies…

 

he’s leaning on the hood of the tesla, because he’s in no condition to drive, shaky as he is. he needs to still himself, find his center, refocus. and then he can drive home. to his emtpty, soulless gray apartment, where there’s nothing out of place, but most importantly, where there’s _no one_ but him. he isn’t lonely – never has been. his family expected self-sufficiency, and he’d learned it well, loneliness always clinging to him like a habit he couldn’t quite shake – like the smoking.

 

he’d lock the door. lock the windows, and the balcony. lock himself in his bedroom. ten doors down, locks on turning locks, and nothing ever quite enough to make him feel _safe._

he’d gotten out, but he’d never gotten _away._ not like kill, and alluka, and kalluto had.

 

otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing outside, smoking, and too fucking shaken to drive himself to his house.

 

“thought you’d quit,” as a testament to how exhausted and wrung out he is, how completely out of it – milluki’s voice makes him almost jumo out of his skin. he throws the cigarette down and stomps on it.   
  
“yeah? i thought so too.”

 

he spreads his arms wide in a shrug. these monthly family reunions kept his local corner store in business.

 

milluki takes the time to look his eldest – and presently _only_ -brother up and down. the last few years had really done a number on him – done a number on them all – from killua forging their parents’ signature on alluka’s discharge papers and disappearing up in the wind, and kalluto _suing_ the family for his own emancipation – and then the good old _Isaac netero homosexual scandal_ with grandpa zeno, followed by illumi’s very own _homosexual scandal,_ it was just one thing after the other. and unlike milluki, illumi doesn’t wear the years well. he’s aged in a way that can only be attributed to stress. his hair isn’t as shiny, and his eyes are dull. he looks good in his balenciaga, the stiletto boots coming up to his thigh, making him taller, leaner. _skinny bitch,_ milluki thinks, though he’s long ago stopped _actually_ being envious of his more slender siblings. he still remembers all those childhood taunts of “mr. piggy”, but in the end, none of them had turned out all that great.

 

at least he won’t age like milk the way illumi’s probably going to, and the way – said only with love in his heart – mother is already.

 

and while milluki’s long learned to be physically present, and astral project his actual consciousness far, far away from the dinner table, illumi never did master any of those self-preservation skills. hence why only one of them successfully quit smoking.   
  
“you wanna go grab a drink?” milluki offers. illumi really looks like he can use one, and frankly, the choice of red wine paired with desert left a bad taste in his mouth, he hopes he can wash out with some whiskey.

 

illumi turns his big eyes on him, and looks – practically imploring.   
  
“i’ll drive,” milluki adds, not exactly reassuringly. he’s been itching to get behind the wheel of illumi’s shiny tesla since gq first posted pictures of illumi posing with his obscene car collection the week after the whole gay scandal thing broke out.   


_an intimate portrait of the gentle romantic that is illumi zoldyck_

 

is what they called it. milluki hate read the whole damn thing, and he had to admit, it was masterful damage control and pr management on illumi’s part. with those big soulful eyes and dramatic stares out the massive floor to ceiling windows in his penthouse, he looked every inch the victim of a shitty, money-digging ex.   
  
god, milluki had hated him. illumi had never quite forgiven him for leaking those pictures, but it was his own fault for storing nudes on a cloud server. and with killua and kalluto both getting struck from zeno’s will, and alluka having never featured in it, milluki had been rather tempted to ensure he wouldn’t have to split the inheritance with anyone. sure, it backfired spectacularly, but it had been worth a try, and illumi was free to no longer hide in the closet. so like, you’re welcome, illu.

 

he reaches reflexively and snatches the keys illumi tosses at him from the air.   
  
“drive fast,” illumi says, and then leans his head on the window, the silky curtain of his hair falling over his shoulder and obscuring his face. milluki was planning on doing just that anyway.   
  
they end up in some upscale yuppie place, a convenient distance between their respective homes, where the bartender knows milluki by name. all the tech billionaire types – of which milluki has been one since before graduating university – come to drink here.

 

illumi nurses a glass of port and alternates between nibbling on the complementary crackers and his own fingernails.

 

“i don’t understand why you get so upset every time,” milluki says. “you know how they are. just nod and move on.”   
  
illumi slants a glare at him. “i am tired of feeling like a naughty child every time i decide to exchange two words with my father.”

 

“that’s what living in a family is,” milluki snaps. “if you don’t like it, maybe you should leave, like kill did.”   
  
“don’t – “

 

“i mean you pretty much have already. you don’t call, you don’t check in – “ milluki had been on the receiving end of one too many hysterical tearful calls from mother about how distant illumi was being, while milluki tried to laugh it off.   
  
“why _would i?”_ illumi snaps, as if incredulous, “when all i get is more and more nonsense from that _psychopath – “  
  
“_watch your mouth,” milluki warns.   
  
“or what?” illumi challenges, something low and heavy in his voice. milluki knows better than to stand up to his eldest brother. illumi is not one to take likely, for all that he had walked away from the family. he still was part of the family _business._

“are you off your meds?” milluki asks instead.

 

the whole gay thing – they’d stomached it, in the end, what with grandpa zeno’s whole thing with the vice president, so milluki had leaked the hospital records instead. it was time to _shatter_ this ideal of the perfect first son. he’d debated putting the whole thing online, illumi’s therapist hopping, the pharmacy records – in the end, he’d settled for leaving a printed copy on their father’s desk. the resulting screaming match hadn’t been nearly as satisfying as he’d tought.   
  
“are we evil, illu?” his mother had screeched. “is that what you’re saying? we’re so evil that we – we made you like this?”

 

milluki hadn’t thought on how it would make _her_ feel. he regretted it immensely when he heard the tears in her voice.

 

“what are you so _tired_ about?” his father had boomed.

 

he’d never heard illumi sound quite so defeated, when he was defending himself. he’d never heard illumi have to _defend_ himself, before that. that illumi was even speaking to him, was a miracle of either forgiveness or conditioning.

 

“i don’t think that’s any of your business,” illumi said coldly. “can’t we just go back to drinking in silence while staring at our phones?”

 

“it’s just you’re… off,” milluki attempted.

 

“don’t pretend you’re worried,” illumi cut him off cooly.  “as if i would ever let you know anything that is true about me after everything you’ve done. god knows where the next bit will end up being posted. my high school yearbook pictures projected on the lincoln memorial maybe? this was a mistake.”

 

he slapped a crisp hundred dollar bill on the bartop. “i’m _done._ i’ll see you next month.”

 

milluki didn’t even attempt to get up. it’s not like illumi expected better. he’s not sure _what_ he expected.

 

at least fights with his brothers were something familiar. something he could easily shake off. they’d spent a lifetime clawing and snapping at each other.

 

he sat in the darkness of the car for a long time. his heart was no longer hammering in his chest, and his eyes stopped stinging with fury. god. the goddamn nerve of milluki. a whole adult, still clinging to their mother’s proverbial skirts. he’d never grown up, and illumi suspected, probably never would.

 

at least killua and alluka had, though being homeless in the streets of Europe wasn’t exactly the future illumi had envisioned for his most promising sibling. they were going to move to a _hippie commune._ the absurdity was enough to make him laugh. when he’d gotten the news, he’d emptied a clip into the head of whichever unfortunate informant was standing in front of him at the time – not that he remembered. then he cut off the pointless quest for trailing them. he’d meant what he said to milluki. he was done. he’d been done for such a long time.

 

kalluto had grown up too – though still a teenager. when illumi got over his initial rage – and his stint at the hospital from his parents’ initial rage – he’d quietly set up kalluto with a trust fund, and left it at that. he’d learned his lesson with kill. if they wanted to leave…

 

it was just him that didn’t seem to manage it.

 

he wanted to be in his apartment. wanted to be back in his bed, under five blankets, with the lights out, and only the big round moon for company. he’d lock the door, and he’d be safe. maybe put his blast heater on. maybe have a bath, before bed.

 

his skin felt too tight, too foreign. this wasn’t something that a bath could fix.

 

he picked up his phone almost on auto-pilot.

 

phinks picked up on the second ring. “hey,” he said, “’sup?”

 

illumi breathed in deeply. “i need – “ he said, and faltered.

 

he felt rubbed raw and thin, like a paper someone had dragged an eraser over too much, and he was the pencil smudge left at the end.   
  
“no,” phinks cut him off sharply. “nuh-uh, princess. no way. that’s over and done with.”   
  
if he started crying now, he’d never forgive himself. “pleas- “  
  
phinks heaved a long-suffering sigh. “come to the club,” he said finally. “i’ll introduce you to someone who’s gonna take care of your needy ass.”

 

he said it roughly, but there was affection in his voice, and illumi soaked it up desperately. whatever all his shortcomings – and they were plenty – phinks always made good on a promise.

 

he put the car in gear, and then let it drive him to the palace of heaven.

 

from the outside it look like any of the other modern dance clubs that opened their doors at night. franklin was at the door tonight, and phinks must have said something, because he just waved illumi in through the door, ahead of the whole queue. illumi greeted him with a nod, and received a nod in return.   
  
inside, he could feel the bass shaking him to his core.

 

pakunoda was manning the bar, and she greeted him with a little wave. the central main stage was taken up by machi’s set up. he’d forgotten there were demos on the main floor on wednesdays.

 

nobunaga was on his knees, head bowed, his hands balled into fists on his lap. machi was doing a corset on his back. illumi stood, with the rest of the crowd, watching transfixed, as the needle disappeared into his skin. she was working low on his back, almost finishing the two rows that would make the corset. uvogin stood off to the side of the stage, grinning proudly. illumi couldn’t see shalnark anywhere, but he was probably somewhere close.

 

seeing this – nobunaga on his knees, looking so serene, with his dom watching on approvingly was nearly enough to set his skin on fucking fire. he _wanted._ he didn’t even enjoy pain all that much, but he’d take _anything_ if it meant being looked at like that.

 

it had been part of the problem, hadn’t it? all the things he’d said yes to, without meaning it, because it was good for phinks, and illumi had _wanted_ to be good for phinks.

 

he flinched at the feeling of fingers grazing the small of his back.   
  
“hey,” phinks was close – too close, uncomfortably close. illumi _yearned-_  
  
“come on,” phinks indicated his head to the restricted staircase leading into the upper floor of the palace of heaven, the VIP section for the most private patrons.

 

he followed phinks on autopilot, drinking in the familiarity of the clubs. he’d avoided coming here for the months after the break up. the leaked pictures, the mess with his family – he’d _missed_ it.

 

“the guy i’m introducing you to,” phinks was saying. “he’s a little… _weird._ but a good match, i think. or he can recommend you someone else.”

 

“is he…” illumi struggled for words. “good?”

 

phinks tilted his head to the side, seeming to seriously consider it. “he tops chrollo sometimes. so yeah, i’d say he’s good.” illumi doesn’t really want to nitpick the resentment in the undertones there.

 

“he doesn’t usually come in on wednesdays, but feitan’s doing a demo.”

 

“so he – “ illumi begins.   
  
“he subs sometimes too,” phinks confirms. “he’s a pain loving little freak. for himself. he’s not a sadist.” _not like me_ , hangs in the air between them.

 

feitan doesn’t like being looked at. his shows are a lot more restricted. only the VIPs get to see him do his thing, and frankly, it’s much easier to keep the sort of environment he needs for live demonstrations pristine with a smaller audience.

 

the man on the raised platform is bowed over, his forehead nearly touching the polished floor, his wild red hair falling in his face. a color this bright _has_ to come out of a bottle. he’s got broad shoulders, and his arms, spread wide and cuffed to the floor-  are coiled tight with muscle. his pale, freckled back is covered in thin slices oozing blood. feitan is walking around him slowly, looking down on his handiwork appraisingly.   
  
“he’ll talk to you after the show,” phinks says. “if he’d got any of his wits left about him.”

 

illumi nods. his mouth is dry, and he stares, transfixed. feitan crouches next to the man’s head, and takes of fistful of that bright, bright hair, pulling his head up. illumi catches a glimps of a sharp jawline, a cruel, full mouth, and a bright golden eye, turned hazy with need.   
  
“what do we say, hisoka?” feitan asks silkily. his voice glides oh-so-smoothly. phinks touches his waist again, and snaps his finers next to his ear.   
  
“hey,” he says, quiet, but insistent. “stay with me. god, you need it real bad, huh?”   
  
illumi nods. phinks sighs.   
  
“do you want to kneel for me?”   
  
illumi nearly gives himself whiplash with how fast he nods this time, and phinks rolls his eyes affectionately. “on your knees then, sweetheart. but stay here, don’t go away.”   
  
illumi slides down to the floor, and feels phinks settle a hand on his head, scratching his scalp lightly. he’s much more a fan of tugging and pulling, but he knows what illumi needs now. too little, too late.

 

feitan has managed to coax a thank you out of hisoka’s beautiful mouth. from this height illumi can see his face a lot better. he’s straining to press his lips to the tips of feitan’s patent leather boots. there’s specks of blood on the shiny polished tips, that he’s trying to reach with his tongue.   
  
illumi watches in rapt attention. he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. he’s pretty sure he loses some time, in between blinks, too caught up in the sensation of being on his knees for phinks again, after such a long time.

 

he doesn’t quite catch when the performance ends, only there’s a lot more blood now, and hisoka is shaking with the strain the position has put on his muscles.  feitan undles the cuffs and helps him unfurl and stand. oh. _oh._ he is _tall._

 

they walk away together, with feitan carefully supporting hisoka as he sways a little on unsteady fees. his face is glistening with sweat, and he looks so far gone illumi isn’t really sure they’ll be doing any sort of talking. feitan just has that effect on people. when phinks had first introduced them, illumi had wanted so badly to _obey._

 

phinks didn’t really let feitan play with illumi though. even though he hadn’t quite realized the depth of it at the time, he _knew_ illumi wasn’t prone to saying “no” even when the situation called for it.

 

phinks snapped his fingers again next to illumi’s ear. it was one of the quiest way to get his attention, an auditory cue with no negative associations in illumi’s mind. he looked up at the other man, blinking slowly.   
  
“you with me, princess? or did you go away again?”

 

illumi is speaking through a wad of cotton when he says. “uh-huh. i’m here.”   
  
“how long has it been since – “ phinks begins to ask.   
  
“since you,” illumi says flatly, earnestly.   
  
“right. your “strangers” thing,” he acknowledges. illumi’s sheer inability to deal with anyone in a personal sense without having established a connection first… well. it made things difficult. he would never have met phinks if not for chrollo, and never met chrollo if not for mother.

 

and it’s not like he could exactly go around and ask people to recommend him a dom to fuck the depression and daddy issues out of him.

phinks cups illumi’s face with his rough callous hand, running a thumb over his cheek.   
“we’ll give them a bit of time, and then you can go meet hisoka. sound alright?”   
  
illumi nods, and nuzzles into phinks’ palm despite. it’s been _so long_ since anyone’s touched him – in any way. he misses it.   
  
“god, princess,” phinks says, “you’re breaking my goddamn heart.”   
  
illumi just gives him another slow blink, because he has no response to articulate.   
  
he loses time again, comfortable in his pose of obescience. when phinks gets his attention again, his legs have fallen asleep, and his back aches a little.   
  
“come on princess, get up,” phinks says, then “do you need help?”   
  
illumi shrugs his arm off, and stands upright and still, blinking, and re-orienting himself in his body. he feels centered in a way he hasn’t in a long time. feitan is waiting for them near the entry to the hallway  
  
illumi is well familiar with the private rooms meant to provide comfort and privacy to a select few patrons at the palace of heaven. hisoka was stretched out on the king bed in the middle, laying on his stomack, his head buried in a pillow. feitan had taken the time to tend to the cuts on his back, and most of them were covered in plasters with cutesy cartoon characters drawn on them.

 

hisoka looked up, his golden eyes clear and bright, and his mouth pulled into a welcoming smile.   
  
“i think i should,” phinks faltered. a part of him still felt the old protectiveness over illumi. leaving him alone in a room with hisoka almost felt like tossing a bloody steak into a shark tank. and hisoka was very good at smelling the blood in the water.   
  
he felt feitan’s hand on his wrist, deft nimble fingers encircling it, not grabbing, but insistent.   
  
“we go now,” feitan snapped, and lead him out of the room.   
  
“right,” phinks said, closing the door behind him.   
  
illumi listened to the dull noise of the closing door, and took a deep breath, looking towards hisoka again.

 

“phinks tells me you’re looking for a dom,” the man remarks casually.   
  
illumi directs his gaze to the gleaming hardwood floor of the room. there’s a pair of black stilettos set neatly by the bedside table.   
  
“i – yes. in not so many words,” he says finally. he sounds more airy about it, than he means. he’s always been able to put the most air in his voice when it comes to the things that are most important to him. maybe that’s why he couldn’t convince kill to stay.

 

“i see,” hisoka licks his lips slowly. there’s something so sensual about the action. “do you have a lot of experience with that sort of relationship?”

 

illumi pauses, considering, tilting his head to the side, like a pretty, delicate bird. hisoka had caught his eye, even from the stage, but then he’d gotten too distracted by feitan’s talented hands, and the quiet steely demand of his voice. but he might have to buy phinks a drink for this – because illumi really is a little treasure.

 

“i haven’t been with anyone since phinks,” he says finally.   
  
“and before that?” hisoka shifts in the bed, moving to prop himself on his elbows. god, feitan always took such good care of him.

 

“before that…” illumi trails off. “not really,” he admits softly, and lowers those beautiful dark eyes, as if ashamed. hisoka wants to _ruin_ him.

 

“i see,” hisoka repeats slowly. “we aren’t going to do anything tonight, as you can probably imagine. but we can talk. discuss what you need and expect from me. and what i am going to be expecting from you. tell me, illumi… what _do_ you want exactly?”

 

illumi’s beautiful pale cheeks surge with color, a powder fine blush rising high in his cheekbones. “to be good,” he whispers, and shakes his head, sending that long luscious hair over his face, hiding so, so beautifully. oh, _sweetheart._

“i think you’ll be very good for me,” hisoka croons. “i think you couldn’t be bad if you tried, lovely boy. why don’t you have a seat, let’s talk. you know i’m friends with phinks.” that was a massive exaggeration of the boldest kind. phinks wouldn’t be the first suspect if hisoka were ever murdered – that’s as friendly as their relationship actually was. “so i know a little about what all happened between you two…”

 

illumi flinches.

 

he makes his way on those long slender legs to the comfortable armchair on the other side of the bed, and curls into it gracefully, tucking his legs up. it’s so charming and childlike, hisoka can’t help but smile.

 

“illumi needs the opposite of a firm hand,” phinks had said. “and he’s your type.”   
  
hisoka had been getting ready for his little set with feitan, centering himself, and having a little sugar boost in the form of texture surprise’s brand new release chocolate eggs – now featuring a sticker _and_ a plastic toy inside the egg! – he’d focused phinks with a look in his mirror, arching his eyebrow.   
  
“which is?”

 

phinks had stared back flatly. “needy.”

 

and. well. he wasn’t wrong. hisoka _loved_ needy. he was just a giver at heart.

 

“i was dumb then,” illumi says. “i know better now.”

 

there was something in the defensive curl of his shoulders that made hisoka think otherwise, but he would never say it.

 

“alright, dear boy, i’ll trust you on that. so why don’t you tell me a bit about what you don’t want?”

 

illumi was so, so affection starved, phinks said, was so eager and willing, would say _yes, green, go, please daddy,_ to anything he thought would please his partner, and that was the crux of the problem.

 

“i don’t like when it hurts,” illumi says, thoughtfully. “no spanking, or anything like that.”

 

hisoka nodded and hummed. that was easy enough. he didn’t particularly enjoy inflicting pain on a sub either.

 

“i don’t mind choking though,” the lovely boy continues, sounds almost embarrassed by it. hisoka can just imagine resting his hand over that pale smooth neck.

 

“i work, so i won’t be available at all times. if you expect this to be a 24/7 arrangement, it will not be … _sustainable._ “

 

oh, and how quickly he’d gone businesslike. there was a steel core within that delightful, lovely shell, that just needed to be coaxed out. and _work_ – what an interesting, _fun_ word for what illumi did, and what his family did too – either he thought hisoka didn’t know – or he simply didn’t like talking about it. still. hisoka was largely an independent person, and while he enjoyed opening up his arms, and his heart and giving all the care and affection in the world – and would certainly enjoy doing so for illumi- there was no way he could be tied down with the responsibility of being someone’s 24/7 dom.

 

maybe phinks was right, and they really were well-suited.   
  
he nodded thoughtfully along.

 

“i just need,” illumi paused, selecting his words carefully. little kalluto was the same, a lovely bird of a boy, whose speech was more air than words, those long, lingering pauses, trying to say the right thing. he wondered if illumi knew about kalluto’s new occupation as the palace of heaven’s back room accountant and assistant. under kortopi’s deft tutelage, he was bound to make the numbers dance for him, and chrollo approved. he also approved of kalluto’s adorable little baby crush on him, because god forbid any one of his spiders wasn’t also a besotted, infatuated thrall. as one of the besotted thralls, hisoka had very little room to speak.

 

hisoka waited, patiently, for the right words to present themselves to his boy. already, from the moment he’d walked into the room, he already considered illumi his.

 

“i just need someone to take care of me,” illumi said, finally, in a tortured exhale. “to put me out of my head, when i’m – when i’m – “ he clenched those beautiful hands into fists.

 

hisoka didn’t want to put words in his mouth. he waited.

 

“i’m just tired,” illumi rephrased. “but i can’t- i don’t. i don’t sleep.” those big wide eyes turn on hisoka. “i don’t feel – “ _safe, “_ comfortable.”

 

oh, phinks. what a _gift._  
  
“i can take care of you,” hisoka said quietly. “if that’s what you need.”

 

illumi nodded once, sharply.

 

“i like… i like praise. and pet names… when you called me boy earlier…” his cheeks flush again.   
  
“i called you a lovely boy,” hisoka reminds him, just to see the color deepen. “and you are. you are a sweet, beautiful boy, and you’re going to be very good for me, aren’t you?”

 

he enjoys watching the sharp raise and fall of illumi’s chest, the sweet, little whisper “yes. i think i’d like that. i think i’d like that very much.”   
  
“good, i’m glad. i want to take care of you, dear boy.”   
  
ah, there – there, that sweet, lovely look.

 

hisoka wouldn’t have said yes to just any needy twink phinks wanted to pawn off on him. but then phinks had the good sense to say, almost offhandedly throwing it over his shoulder, “it’s illumi zoldyck, by the way. and if you think kalluto has issues, wait till you meet this eldest basket case.”

 

hisoka had dropped his water. _zoldyck._ now they were talking. zoldyck. as if he’d ever miss an opportunity like that. at sixteen, kalluto was oh-so-sweet, but – well. they’d flipped the coin for it, and chrollo had won first dibs, and chrollo – the upstanding citizen he was, was _waiting._

 

but now hisoka had in front of him this pretty, delicate doll, who was also, incidentally, the bloody terror of the streets for as long as hisoka could remember. and if his math was right – which it probably wasn’t – he had at least four years on illu-chan. so yes. a delightful little mess. asking _him_ for care. only a heartless monster would say no.

“what about you, then?” illumi asks. his voice has an amazing, breathy quality to it, so full of air. it makes hisoka think of smoky bars and dirty martinis.

 

“what about me, dearest doll?”

 

“what do you … want from me?” he regards hisoka with those lovely dark eyes, they seem to swallow up all the light in the room.

 

“i think you’ll find me very easy to please, darling boy,” hisoka says, lets his eyes feast on the sight before him, lets his hunger show. “i expect you to obey me or safeword. i don’t like to punish. i won’t like punishing you. if there’s something you don’t _want_ to do… just say so, sweet treasure. don’t go along, because you think i’ll enjoy it. you are such a pretty, dear thing. i would never enjoy hurting you, doing anything to you that you don’t like.”

 

illumi nodded, his long dark lashes fluttering, a few quick blinks, as though recalibrating his understanding. “okay,” he says slowly, tasting the word on his lips. “i’ll tell you. if i don’t like something.”   
  
hisoka nods encouragingly. “very good.”   
  
“what do you – that is to say. what should i call you?”   
  
“oh? hm, well my name should suffice,” hisoka said. “i don’t particularly care for a title. unless there’s something _you_ want to call me. we can talk about that. about why.”

 

“not always,” illumi begins, and hisoka can already tell he’s about to get another treat. “but sometimes i… sometimes is it okay…” he worries at his bottom lips, sinking perfect pearl-white teeth into it. “daddy?”   
  
the way he rolls the word out is so, so lovely, full of desperation and want, and need. oh dear, hisoka thinks, has anyone _ever_ treated this beautiful treasure the right way?

 

“of _course_ you can,” he reassures emphatically. “whatever you need, sweetling.”

 

it makes illumi draw even tighter into himself, instead of relaxing. like he’s anticipating a trap. there’s no traps here, as far as hisoka is concerned. he wonders how much it will take to make illumi cry. he wonders if he should push it, tonight.   
  
_“you called phinks after such a long time… forgive me for asking, but why now?”_

 

illumi turns away from him, his profile sharp and beautiful, heavy lidded gaze cast into the corner of the room, where hisoka’s left his bag – wednesdays were a bit of a tight schedule for him anyway, and today he’d come straight from the gymnastics studio, after six solid hours of aerial silks, when feitan threw a bitch fit on the phone that the sub he was meant to demo on had backed out at the last minute. hisoka never missed a chance to let feitan fuck him up for an audience.

 

there – the moneyshot -the soft tremor in those gorgeous, sweetly rounded shoulders.   
  
“it’s been… a really difficult –“ illumi’s voice catches. “i’m sure you’ve seen the papers – “ he cuts off again.

 

ah yes. the zoldyck family scandals, one after the other in short brutal succession.

 

he makes an appropriately sympathetic noise. just a little more, and that pretty, sweet façade would crack. _show me where it hurts, baby doll_.

 

“i just didn’t do enough,” illumi says, but his voice is quiet, and level. it’s the calm before the stone, before the dam breaks. “i haven’t been able to – well. it’s a lot of responsibility, what i do. a lot of the family’s hopes are with me – especially with two of my younger brothers… being so _disinterested_ in our work. and it’s a lot of work. hard work – mind you, i love it, but –“

 

_go on, sweetheart. tell me how you really feel._

“i need to _not_ be in control sometimes,” illumi says at last, with a finality in his voice. “i need to feel like i’m doing a good job. like i’m being…”   
  
“good?” hisoka encourages warmly. illumi turns to face him again. his eyes are oh-so-big, so haunted. there’s a thousand aches in there, that hisoka can’t wait to unpick. a childhood he doesn’t even want to imagine, and it’s all summed up in that plaintive, desperate look, that he’s seen on kalluto’s face too. what, oh what cps-inducing horrors did the high walls of the zoldyck mansion hold? kalluto had aired just enough family laundry out to earn his emancipation, and the media silence of the other siblings was considered damning enough. but even kalluto hadn’t told the court everything. so… what _did_ they do you, pretty doll?

 

illumi opens his mouth to say something, but the only sound that escapes is a sob.

 

_jackpot._

“oh, darling,” hisoka says warmly. he swings his legs off the bed and pads gracefully to illumi, draws him in carefully, and illumi buries his face in hisoka’s stomach, his slender shoulders shaking.   
  
“i’m sorry – “ he stutters, but hisoka shushes him, pets his hair – it’s just as soft as it looks.

 

“let it all out, dearest boy. let it all out. i know you’re tired. i know it hurts. you’re safe now, with me. such a good boy, aren’t you?”   
  
he says some other soft, reassuring nonsense. illumi has been _ruined,_ beneath his sharp clothes, and beautiful impassive face. he could tell, from the moment he watched out of the corner of his eyes, how a single touch from phinks was enough to have him kneeling. hisoka didn’t like that at all. someone else had come in first, and done a thorough mess of it. and now he’d have to clean it up.

he lets illumi cry his sweet little doll-heart out, and hands him the box of tissues on the bedside table. the palace of heaven really thinks about its patrons.

 

“you must be very tired,” hisoka coaxes. “why don’t you stay here. have some rest?”   
  
illumi is looking up at him, his eyes blank again, his face covered in red splotches. he looks positively miserable. even if he wasn’t enjoying it, hisoka wouldn’t have let him drive in such a state.   
  
“is that … okay?”   
  
“i’m suggesting it, aren’t i?”   
  
illumi turns away from him. what a shy darling – hisoka’s realized by now, that illumi does it when he wants to think. as if when he can’t see hisoka, hisoka can’t see him either. it’s endearing.   
  
“okay,” he says, quietly. “will you stay with me?”  
  
“i wouldn’t have it otherwise.”   
  
“i’ve got to charge my phone somewhere – “ illumi begins.

 

“i’m sure you know the set up of the rooms,” hisoka says, warmly. “why don’t you settle yourself, and join me in bed.” and then, because he wants to make sure there’s no misunderstandings between them, he adds, just in case, “to sleep.”

 

he grabs his tablet out of his bag, and checks his messages. phinks has sent him a princess emoji and an eggplant emoji, like the obscene fucker he is. hisoka sends him a clownface and a gun back.   
  
illumi moves around the room gracefully. he’s toed out of those gorgeous boots, and is disarming carefully in front of the tall dresser. the benefit of tailored clothes, hisoka supposes, is that they hide all those knives fairly well. chrollo doesn’t allow weapons in the club, but of course, his friends – and his spiders – are an exception. it occurs to hisoka, that in this very moment, if illumi wanted to kill him, he could. his knives are in his duffel, and all he’s got is the tablet.

 

illumi puts all that glorious hair into a simple tight braid, and then hisoka watches with rapt attention as he shimmies out of the skinny, skinny jeans.

 

_oh, dolly,_ he thinks. illumi is wearing what are doubtlessly very expensive pretty lace panties, the black stretching over his ass, and then, as the jeans roll down, hisoka devours with his eyes, inch by inchc of smooth milky thigh, and then – the lacy tops of black thigh high stockings. illumi’s motions are confident, not self conscious at all. he tosses a coy glance over his shoulder, and hisoka pretends to be engrossed in his tablet.

 

his book app has marked where he got to on the latest bloody grizzly crime-slash-sex novel he’s been making slow and painful progress through. reading isn’t easy, and hasn’t _gotten_ easer, but he makes himself go through at least one chapter every day. loathe as he is to admit it, there will always be a fear in him, that one day he’ll wake up again, not knowing what the street signs around him are saying. that chrollo had – patiently, and with no judgment – helped him learn his letters – was a seal as sure as any on hisoka’s loyalty. until he got bored. his ties to danchou were a lot looser than the other spiders’.

 

illumi discards his black silk button-up. he’s wearing a soft-looking black camisole-top under it. and a _shoulder holster_. he’s going to have to buy phinks a whole damn _keg._

illumi removes the holster carefully. hisoka can see where, despite the cami, the leathes has rubbed his soft skin. he watches illumi check the gun safety.

 

he listen to the sounds of illumi splashing his face with water in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed, and he can easily imagine this being routine.

 

illumi emerges, as pale and lovely as the moon, and makes his way to the bed, looking at once, unsure. he stops, halfway between the bed, and the bathroom door. he looks at hisoka, almost panicked, and hisoka wonders if he pushed it too far. then illumi turns around, crosses the room, and shuts the bathroom door, turns the light out, and then _locks it from the outside._

 

what a peculiar doll. hisoka says nothing, just studies him carefully, as he walks to the door of the room, and flips the lock, one, two, three times. then he tests the handle, to make sure it’s locked.

 

his shoulders sag, and he looks at hisoka, apprehensive, shy. _oh, dearest_.

 

he walks to the bed slowly, like it’s the gallows.   
  
“make yourself comfortable, sweetheart,” hisoka says gently. “and we can both get some rest. do you want me to put an alarm on for you?”   
  
he’s an early riser – always has been. his body clock is naturally attuned to the cycles of the sun. illumi has climbed on the bed, kneeling on the soft covers, and looking at his hands, held loosely in his lap. he says, finally, “no.”

 

the benefit of being his own boss is that he gets to sleep as long as he likes. and hisoka doesn’t plan on making him wake any earlier than he wakes naturally. it would be simply too cruel, to such a sweet, lovely boy.   
  
illumi slides under the heavy, thick duvet, and the way his pretty face relaxes is almost too much. someone likes soft things, huh?   
  
“i’m going to read for a big, dear boy. go to sleep,” hisoka croons, and illumi practically melts into the pillow.   
  
“can you… pet my head a little?” he asks, and it’s perhaps the sweetest thing hisoka’s encountered. with the hand not holding the tabler, he reaches out, and gently runs his fingers through illumi’s long beautiful hair.

 

there’s a part of him -a pretty big one – that’s found his newest little side-project, and it’s simply making sure that _no one_ gets to play with illumi zoldyck, but _him._


End file.
